Birthday Boy
by VengefulMothSlayer
Summary: Tony DiNozzo has an enemy- and he's come to pick him up on his birthday...  this does have torture in it, if you're not up to it then please don't read... this story ships TIVA
1. Chapter 1

HI this is my first fanfic guys, so please please please give me loads of reviews, I need all the help I can get.

For my friends, the ones who persduaded me to get this account. Yes, you.

-Slayer

**Chapter 1**

Tony DiNozzo was having a birthday party later that evening.

The preparation that he was prepared to give included and was limited to baking (well, buying) a cake, and setting the table. It wasn't his fault he was having a party, after all. But "the team" had insisted. And so, they were providing the food.

He dropped the cheap-ass chocolate mud on the counter, still in its plastic bag, and went to watch TV. He knew they wouldn't be long- he was back late, due to rush hour traffic, and Abby had set the time as 6:30pm. It was now 6:15.

He heard the door quietly open. His hand went to the place his gun would usually hang, just on reflex. It wasn't there, of course. He preferred to go unarmed in the apartment.

He checked the time- 6:20. They were early. He turned the TV up.

And felt the hairs prick up on the back of his spine.

There was someone behind him.

Just then, a hand came around from behind and covered his mouth. A man's hand, calloused.

"Happy birthday, Anthony."

And everything went black.

Abby peered around the door. The hallway was empty.

"Come on," she whispered to the others.

"Hmph," said Gibbs, hating the sneaking and creeping. "Why do we have to surprise him? He knows we're coming."

He was, of course, too manly to do something that a 5-year-old girl would do for a friend. Abby could tell, however, that he was secretly hoping that he would really be able to sneak up on DiNozzo. _That_ would be manly.

The TV was blaring as they snuck down the hall, past the door to the kitchen. The door to the living and dining room was at the end of the hall. Abby looked through the doorway, past the half-open door.

Something was wrong.

She looked behind her, at McGee. "There's no-one there," she hissed.

He frowned, and opened the door fully. The room was empty. The lights were all on, but there was nobody home.

"What happened?" he asked Gibbs, unconsciously looking to the senior officer for guidance.

Gibbs was frowning. "Spread out. Check the rooms. He could just be doing some prank and about to jump out and surprise us."

Ziva nodded, and went to check the bathroom.

But after they'd checked all the rooms, there was still no-one there.

Abby sat down on the couch. She was completely and utterly confused. "He couldn't have just forgotten, could he?"

"No, I don't think he's just out," Gibbs said. "There's no sign of a struggle, but my gut tells me he should be here. There's something we don't know."

"But… But it's his birthday," said Abby. "Surely nothing would happen to him now."

But just then, the TV flicked off. The sudden absence of sound made them all look at its former source.

Then the black screen flickered to an image of a man tied to a chair. A trail of blood was dried on his face from a vicious head wound to the top of his skull.

Abby gasped. She could feel the tension in the air thicken, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

The man in the chair was Tony.

"Did you really think that you could have a happy birthday?" asked the man. Tony could tell he was behind him, slightly to his left.

"My _son_ wasn't allowed to have a happy birthday. Why should you?" asked the man. Tony felt him moving to the left.

Suddenly the man was right in front of him, his alcohol-scented breath blowing warm in his face.

"I bet you don't even remember it. Just a routine bust, was it? Just another drug smuggler bringing his wares onto the docks? He wasn't just anybody. He was _my boy_. And I swear, I _will_ make you pay for what you did to him. You will suffer for every moment of life you took away from him until when I finally kill you, you'll be begging for the end you gave to my Mikey. I. will. Hear. Your. _Screams_."

This last was punctuated by a punch to the mouth. Spitting blood in what he hoped was the man's direction, Tony said "I swear I have no idea what you are talking about."

"That doesn't matter to me, boy. What matters to me is that I know you did it."

"Have a happy birthday, Anthony."

Gibbs watched in a detached kind of way as Tony was hauled up by the wrists and tied to a pipe projecting from the ceiling. The dark haired man who had been talking to Tony had retreated to the shadows, replaced by two men who were now fixing DiNozzo's legs, which had been swinging off the ground, to an iron loop that had been screwed to the concrete floor. They appeared to be armed with cricket bats.

No prizes for guessing why.

"Bats," said Tony. "How original of you."

That was all he got out before the blows hit.

They were hard enough, at the start, to cause severe bruising, but no pain. But those starting blows were just an appetizer- an excruciatingly painful appetizer at that.

They started on his legs. He felt his body wanting to move to the side, away from the blows, but they were on both sides, coming faster and faster, and he was tied immobile like a pig for slaughter. They were on the brink of breaking bones now- then one hit his kneecap from the way it isn't supposed to bend-

The sickening _Crack_ of bone split the air-

They hit him in the stomach now, winding him, he fought for breath, and more cracks filled the air as they hit his ribs, and they were flying now, the pain was all over and his arms were hit and they broke and bent in ways that they shouldn't be-

And he felt himself wanting to cry out for Ziva, for Gibbs, McGee, _Anyone_ to please, _please_ stop it as his arms, broken, stretched with his weight on them, but he wouldn't let a sound pass his lips, that was what he wanted, and the man in the cell was laughing-

And it stopped.

The beating stopped.

The men put down their cricket bats and surveyed the damage. Then one walked around behind him and picked something up.

A line of liquid fire opened up on his back.

The _snap_ of a whip ripped the air in half.

The beating continued afresh and Tony found himself blacking out, that light in the back of his head saying, _alright, that's enough for now_, and the last things he heard before his eyes closed were-

"_Happy birthday, dear Anthony, happy birthday to you…"_

And as Ziva watched Tony hurting, she felt a single tear slide down her cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Gibbs walked into the bullpen. McGee and Ziva looked up.

"Well?" he asked. "What have you got to report?"

They hurried over to him, and Ziva picked up the remote control for the large screen on the wall. It was blank.

"I've been looking at the crime scene," said McGee. "But as we saw, there's no sign of a struggle. There's no evidence for the man's being there- it could be a woman for all we know. No DNA, no fingerprints whatsoever."

He looked at Ziva. She nodded, and pointed the remote at the screen. It started to flicker with head shots of criminals.

"I've been looking for files on criminals who might fit the description of that man's son," she said. "We know his nickname was Mikey, which leads me to believe he was probably christened Michael. But with the amount of criminals who go under aliases these days, he may not be there under that name. And it's possible that the nickname is completely unrelated to the real name; his father could have come up with it because of the son's similarity to someone he knew or admired. That all makes it pretty hard to dismiss anyone who comes up on the search- and there are a reasonable amount of results."

Gibbs nodded. "What did you search?"

"Drug busts that ended in death caused by Tony DiNozzo from 2-10 years ago. They aren't in their hundreds or anything, but we should have a little trouble chasing down all the loose ends."

Gibbs nodded. "Anything else?"

"Well…" McGee looked uncomfortable. "I've been trying to locate the signal that the footage came from- obviously it was live, as it wasn't on a disc."

"But?"

"I can't find it. It looks like a dead end."

There was a silence as they all stood looking at the screen, now empty again.

Then it flickered.

When Tony came to, he was tied to a chair again.

His vision was blurred, but his captor's alcohol-stained breath was blowing in his face again and there was a dark mass looming before his eyes that looked vaguely head-shaped. Tony mustered up the spit and blood and mucus in his mouth and spat in the man's face.

The black mass before him barely hesitated. He planted a foot on Tony's chest and tipped the chair over. Tony bit back a scream as he landed on his broken arms. They flared with pain then burnt dully and sullenly in the background. He blinked back tears.

The voice issued dully from above him as he leaned down over Tony's recumbent form. "I'll have no disrespect, Anthony. You're my prisoner, so you play be my rules."

"The day I play by your rules is the day I believe in fairies."

"Oh, no," said the man, a leer in his voice. "You just killed Tinkerbelle! We'll have to punish you for that," he said sternly, in the way a father does a naughty child.

"But first," he said, his voice suddenly a conspirational whisper, "I'm going to give you a little cut."

Ziva had promised herself that she would be strong. That she would watch. That she would stay in control.

The man was pulling a knife out of his pocket. "just a little cut," ha repeated, in a falsely bright voice.

Ziva breathed out. There was an odd hitch in it- not quite a sob, but not normal breathing either.

Then the blade went in.

The metal was icy cold on Tony's skin, and though he knew that it shouldn't have felt that way, it was as if it was sapping his strength. He felt warm blood trickling lazily from the wound, as the man dragged the cold, sharp knife through his skin in an oddly sharp manner, all the while whispering in his ear...

"You know, they've never really cared about you," he said.

"You're always at the forefront, aren't you? Always the first into the cold, dark places. Always looking after everyone else. You think that you're the big brother, don't you? Well, really you're only the housekeeper... dispensable, replaceable. They don't really care about you..."

"They won't even be looking for you, Anthony..."

The knife was a shard of ice in his skin, tracing its lazy pattern in red...

_Red and white_, thought Tony hazily. _Like Christmas_.

_But that's wrong. You're the birthday boy. _

Gibbs felt his teeth grinding and his hands closing into fists.

He'd only felt this helpless on one other occasion- the day he'd lost his family, the day he'd been alone. Now he felt the same way- he could see this man hurting Tony, who he thought of like a son, and he could hear him, but he couldn't do anything about it. He wanted to hurt the guy, but all he had was a moving picture on a screen- nothing more.

DiNozzo was the son he had never had- and the man on the screen was telling Tony that Gibbs didn't care about him.

_I swear_, thought Gibbs, as he watched the screen. _I will make you pay for this._

The man finished and stepped back.

Tony could feel the wound smarting across from shoulder to shoulder, throbbing with every heartbeat, sticky blood flowing down his chest. He had hardly any energy left already; he felt completely numb.

When the pliers brushed against the skin on the pinkie of his left hand, he didn't even register. And when they slowly began to pull the fingernail out, he found he didn't even have the energy left to scream.

Ziva couldn't take it anymore. The sight of Tony tied to the chair was enough, but this was much worse. He wasn't screaming. He wasn't even making a single sound. He was shaking, silent tears pouring down his face as they pulled out his nail.

And across his chest, spelled out in a childish script and trickling blood, was a single word;

MURDERER


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

The door to the small concrete room swung inward with a mournful groan. Tony raised his head.

There was no way to pass the time here and he found himself looking forward to each visit, and the pain it brought. The boredom and the hunger had been the worst torture when he was first here-he had distracted himself with images of the chocolate cake he had left carelessly on the kitchen bench. Why had he not eaten it?

But after a while of not eating, the hunger pains passed and so did the nausea. Now the mere thought of food was distasteful, and he had nothing to distract himself with.

A blurry shape entered and switched on the light. A male voice emanated from it, light- perhaps late teens or early twenties? It was definitely young. "How are you feeling?"

"Who are you, Good Saint Nick?"

"Tony, tony, tony. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to talk."

"Right. You want to help. Of course, silly me."

"I'm worried about you. They have been putting you through a lot- they won't tell me exactly what." Was his accent British? Cockney, Tony decided. That accent had always annoyed him.

"Look, I don't doubt you really care how I feel-actually, I do- and I don't doubt that you're really quite a nice guy- actually, I doubt that too. But I'd really thank you to leave me alone. Now."

There was silence for a moment. "How can I convince you?" he asked quietly.

Tony laughed bitterly. "Believe me. You really can't."

Gibbs entered the bullpen and took a long chug from his coffee cup. "SO what have you got for me?" he asked.

McGee shook his head. "I'm having a lot of trouble with the crime scene. We still haven't turned anything up since the last time you checked. Which leads me to believe that…"

"That what?" asked Gibbs, taking another gulp of coffee.

"That either it was someone he trusted, or whatever they said or did shocked him so badly he didn't do anything about it."

Gibbs shook his head. "That's not a nice thought. Not at all."

Ziva shook her head along with him, then took up McGee's slack. "The search I'm putting up is becoming quite tedious. I need years to interview all these people," she added in her soft accent. "But I only have days, and perhaps no time at all."

Gibbs looked away for a moment then back. "We can only do what we can," he said in what was meant to be a strong, fortified voice but came out rather tired and a little sad. "Only what he would do for us."

Tony watched and listened for the door to open again. He wasn't sure what had just happened- but what he was sure of was that he had concussion. A bad one at that- he could barely see. He felt himself slipping into sleep and closed his eyes gratefully, begging for his tired soul to heal.

Abby looked around the lab. She wished she were at her flat. At the moment, the blank, stark walls of the lab were pushing in on her, and she wanted to get out. But she knew that she had to be there if there were any developments on Tony. She owed that to the rest of the team.

Timmy came I through the door- she recognized his footsteps without even turning around. His face was set into lines of sadness. "Tony's on," he said quietly.

She nodded and they left the lab.

On the screen, there was a picture of Tony. Tied to the chair, not blindfolded, but obviously not whole either. He seemed to be asleep.

Abby was confused at first- where were the others? Where were the devices of torture?

But then the dark-haired man walked onto the screen and Abby's insides froze with sympathetic terror.

Tony felt the warm breath on the skin behind his ear and jerked awake in his sleep.

"Why should you sleep?" asked the man quietly. "My son sleeps for eternity, and yet he will never again have sweet dreams. By the time I finally kill you, you'll be begging me for rest."

It was then that the sounds came.

The sounds of his team speaking.

They were speaking in normal voices, about normal, run-of the mill things, and Tony assumed consciously that these were tapes of his team back when he was still with them. But a little voice inside of him, the one that could only ever live in the moment, asked with a broken voice why they weren't looking for him. Why they didn't even care.

The man was still behind him, and he echoed his thoughts, breathing in his ear. "They never really cared about you. They never gave a damn. They worked you, used you like a loyal dog, and now you're gone, they'll get another."

Tony shook his head silently, trying to imagine Abby ever doing something so cold.

_They don't care about you,_ a voice whispered. _All those times you called McGee "probie", all the times you didn't tell them you cared. _

_Ziva doesn't care about you. _

_She never did; she never will now. _

Ziva…

Gibbs faced the screen and watched as the door to the cell slammed shut, as his Senior Field Agent melted into silent tears.

"_Ziva…"_ he whispered.

A disturbance in the air at his shoulder told him that the Israeli had gone.

He couldn't allow himself even that. It would be like turning his back on Tony.

He made himself watch.

Abby followed Ziva at a discreet distance, trying to ascertain her destination. The bathroom, she decided, and when she got there the door was already locked.

She was worried about Ziva.

Of course, she was worried about all of them, about what would happen to their team now Tony was gone, Tony, who was Timmy's and her big brother, Gibbs' son, and Ziva's… maybe something more.

But most of all, she was worried about Ziva.

Ziva never like to let on anything much, and Abby wasn't sure how she had been dealing with Tony's capture. Judging plainly from her disappearance into the bathroom, it wasn't good.

Abby had no idea what to do.

McGee came down the corridor and dropped down next to her. He looked into her eyes.

"It's going to be okay," he said simply.

Abby nodded and reached out to him, nestling into the softness of his embrace. She let herself cry.

Inside the bathroom, behind the locked door, sitting on the cold tiles, Ziva wanted to cry. But she wouldn't let herself.

Tony wouldn't want to be cried over, she thought. He would want to be found.

But she couldn't stop herself from raining little drops of pain on the tiled floor.

She didn't make a sound.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ziva sighed and looked over her file at the man she was interviewing.

"Mr Harding, your son, Richard Harding, was killed 3 years ago, is that right?"

The pom frowned and nodded. "It says here that you were informed of how and why he died. Do you care to elaborate?"

Mr Charles Harding, Chuck to his friends, sighed. "Look, ma'am. I was estranged to my son when he died- I hadn't seen him in months. I told the police that when they asked, they didn't seem interested at the time. They told me he was killed by other gangs during a drug bust- that he was caught in the fire. That he had been involved in drugs and had fired on police."

"Were you surprised by this information?"

"Not at all. We gave him every chance, but he didn't want them. As I said, we were estranged at the time of his death. He was going bad long before he finally cut his ties. Broke his mother's heart when he died. She killed herself- two years ago now."

"So if you could find the man who did this, would you be angry at him? He destroyed your family."

"My family was destroyed far longer ago than just 3 years," Charles commented, running a hand through his bleached-blonde hair. "My wife, God have mercy on her soul, was kidding herself. He was dead to me by the time he turned 18."

Ziva nodded slowly. "I see."

"Is that all?" he asked, shifting in his seat.

She nodded slowly and got up. "Yes, that should be all, sir."

Mr Harding nodded and got up.

"Oh, Mr Harding, would you answer just one more question for me?"

He paused at the door and looked back. "Yes?"

"What did you call your son, while you were still on good terms?"

"Well, I called him Mikey. He was a killer basketballer, like Michael Jordan when he jumped."

Ziva nodded. "Thank you for your time, Mr Harding."

Charles nodded and left.

Ziva sighed and scribbled something on the empty page in her folder.

I HAVE NOTHING.

Gibbs sat at his desk and stared disconsolately at his cold cup of coffee. He didn't bother to ask if his team had anything for him- he could tell they didn't.

It was depressing, really it was.

Ziva spoke up. "Look, it's really not coming together. I have one more father to interview, and then I'm stuffed, because none of these people fit the bill. Either they accepted their son's death or they don't care. And none of them look or sound anything like the man on the screen."

"Point taken," Gibbs conceded. But he didn't want to give up. "If you find anything that's even a little bit suspicious, then we've got something."

Ziva nodded. "Okay."

The door opened. Tony didn't bother to try moving- he didn't have the energy, and it wouldn't do him any good. His eyesight was still dodgy and his head hurt. "It's me," came the same Pommie accent.

Tony sighed. "My guardian angel."

A prod in the guts. "I'm the best you've got, mate. Don't mock me."

"So tell me. Why are you doing this?"

The reply was mysterious. "Nick isn't the only guy who knew Mikey."

"Nick?"

A pause. "Shit."

Tony felt himself slowly smiling. He had something now- a name.

Ziva looked up from her files at the tall, dark man before her. "You are Nicholas Temple?'

The man nodded and said shortly, "That is correct."

"You son was killed 3 years ago, is that correct?"

"That is also correct."

"You were informed at the time of how and why he died. You told the police at the time that if you ever found out who did this, you would make them pay. Is that still true?"

"My son," Mr Temple said, leaning forward, "Was a bright young boy. He had his whole life ahead of him, and it was going to be a good one. If I ever find out who took that away from him, they will die."

Ziva nodded slowly and asked her next question. "So it surprised you that he was killed in a drug bust?"

Mr Temple nodded. "He was a good boy. Never did drugs. Wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Would you mind telling me what you called your child, Mr Temple?"

He bowed his head. "He was going to be a basket baller. I called him Mikey, after Michael Jordan."

Ziva felt herself nod and show him to the door.

The door slammed open and Tony felt himself dragged to his feet. He was tied to the ceiling and he felt himself go light headed at the pain in his arms and joints as he was stretched out spreadeagled in the middle of the cell.

The dark haired man breathed in his face and said, "Morning, Tony."

Tony smiled. "Morning, Nick."

Nicholas slapped him across the face, but the damage was done.

Ziva turned to Gibbs. "We have him."


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys,

Thank you all so much for the awesome reviews. I hope this chapter is everything you hoped for.

And thanks especially to Tiva-McAbby4life, for those two very long reviews, and all the support you've given me.

I'd also like to thank all the British crime shows I watch for giving me the inspiration for this fic.

And lastly, to my friends, for all the support you give me in daily life, and to my family, for supporting me through my ups and downs (now I sound like a real author :D) and to all the stupid people in the world, for giving me my outlook on life.

-XXX, Slayer

Chapter 5

"Where are you holding him?" asked Gibbs.

They were in an interrogation room. Across the table from him was a heavily annoyed Nicholas Temple.

"Who. Who am I holding."

"You know who you are holding," said Gibbs. "Senior Field Agent Anthony DiNozzo."

"Oh," Nicholas said, looking suddenly enlightened. "Your secret lover?"

"No." said Gibbs through his teeth.

"Cause I'm going to tell you right now, it was the kinky sex that set him off. That guy really doesn't like handcuffs. At all."

"Tell me where to find him."

"He loves me now, Mate. You ain't ever gonna get him back."

Gibbs inhaled slowly through his nose and left the room.

Ziva looked at him resolutely. "Our time's nearly up. If we can't break him soon, we're going to have to let him go."

Gibbs looked away. "I know. But I can't just give up. We're so close."

Ziva nodded. You're right, but I think we should let him go now. It won't do us any favours if we go overtime."

"Alright."

"We know where he is. We know what he's done. But if we can't get a confession, we'll need evidence."

Gibbs nodded slowly. "True."

"So tell me. What are you going to do? Just sneak down here for little heart-to-hearts every now and again?"

"This is an I'll-scratch-your-back, you'll-scratch-mine equation, Tony. You have nothing to offer me, so I won't offer you anything. Keeping you alive is in my best interests, however, and it would be stupid, therefore, to let you die. But you don't have to be kept alive in any real comfort."

Tony shook his head slowly. "Love is in the air. I knew you'd warm up to me."

But he was talking to empty air.

"Where is he?" asked Gibbs, looking at his watch. Temple was half an hour late. He had been coming in for another interrogation at 0900 hours. It was now 0931 hours, and Gibbs was getting pissed.

Ziva stood up. "I'll go and find him."

Gibbs shook his head. "Hit him where it hurts, as long as it looks like an accident."

The dark-haired man spoke from the other side of the room. "Hello again, Tony."

Tony shook his head.

"I liked how you screamed last time. It was almost worth my son's life. But not really."

"It'll be Tasers today, mate."

Gibbs' face drained of all colour. "He what?"

The voice on the other end of the line was crackly. "He's dead."

"Where did you find the body?" Gibbs asked and listened, then hung up. He turned to McGee. "Temple's dead."

McGee blanched. "Ziva went to find him when he didn't come in again like he was supposed to. He's been stabbed. A lot. They found himin the living room, and painted on the wall in what we assume is his blood, are the words

WRONG GUY

Ziva's just overseeing forensics."

McGee shook his head. "This is much more complicated than we thought."

Gibbs nodded. "Yes, it is. And I'm not sure how long Tony can last."

Ziva knocked on the door of Charles Harding's flat. He opened it and recognised her. "Do come in," he said, opening the door wider.

When they were both seated, Ziva opened her file. "The thing is, Mr Harding, you and a certain Mr Nicholas Temple had an abnormal amount of things in common. You both called your sons, who both died 3 years ago, Mikey after Michael Jordan, because he was an excellent basket baller, for example."

Charles sat back in his seat. "Nicholas Temple?" he asked slowly.

"Yes. Do you know of him?"

"Know of him? My wife was cheating on me with him for years. He even had the gall to say that Mikey was his own son. Surely that's in your files? We were both addressed as father of the deceased- and by that point, I was perfectly happy to hand most of it over to him."

Ziva felt herself go pale. "No," she said. "I didn't find that written down anywhere."


	6. Chapter 6

Hey guys,

Wassup?

I know it's been a while since I updated-In my defence, I just discovered Hetalia: Axis Powers in all its blinding glory *shields eyes against bright light* can't- see-

And I would just like to say, BnBfanatic, thank-you for your advice. It is always nice to have a critic! :P I did actually re-read the 5th chapter myself in order to write this one, and I went….

_Reading, reading, reading, wait WHAT? WHEN DID TONY COME IN?_

_Reareading, rereading, rereading…. No I still don't get it. _

_I WROTE THIS WTF_

And, of course, thank-you to my biffles, Ayayne458 and Tiva-McAbby4life (even though I haven't seen you in weeks- goddamn these winter colds!)and all the others who have been so kind to not tell me what their account names are *cries- why, oh why?*

I am sick at the moment, so don't expect anything fantastic. Really, this will probably suck.

Anyhoo, I'm kind of waffling. Tnx everyone 4 readin! Kisses,

-Slayer

_Ziva _stared once more at the notes in her binder. "I think we may have gotten the wrong guy."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that… Well, it's obviously not Mr. Harding. He's ben helping the investigation, for god's sake. I think that… Well, we were wrong before, weren't we? Could we not be wrong again?"

Gibbs felt the corners of his mouth tighten as he glanced at his watch.

"Ziva, he has been missing for too long. If you have even the slightest idea as to where he might be, tell me now or stop wasting my time."

She stared back at him and shook her head.

Gibbs sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I know what he meant to you, but he's like a son to me I don't want to find out that we were too late."

Ziva looked away, just as the television flickered to life. Her folder dropped to her feet, her hands limp.

_Tony_ felt his toes curl and his almost-sightless eyes flutter closed as the hair on his scalp began to lift off.

He gritted his teeth against the pain and refused to scream but he knew it was small measures- they would hear his pain and there was nothing he could do about it.

It was because he was weak. He didn't have the strength to withstand the pain, the strength to ignore it. By the end of this session he would be curled up and crying like a baby- because he had no strength at all. He never had.

More hair came out as they pulled it from his flesh. He'd never before realised just how painful it would be to have his hair pulled out.

The large man stood before him, and whispered, "I'm tired out of games. I want to see if you can figure it out."

He turned away from Tony, shouting at a non-existant camera,

"You have 40 hours! If you find me, you can kill me, like you killed my brother! Like you KILLED MY SON!"

"But if you don't find me," he said softly, approaching the camera, "Then _I WIN_."

_Gibbs_ reared back in shock- he had a deadline, and a clue.

He made to turn away from the screen and then spun rapidly around again.

Tony was making a sound like an animal in pain. Almost all his hair had been pulled out.

Words managed to claw themselves out of his throat and fell, like lead weights, to the floor. "Don'… bother finding… me. I'm… nothing… deserve it… _you don' careanyway…_" and he susbsided into howls as the last of the hair was pulled from his head.

Gibbs felt his heart hollow out and drop to the floor, but Ziva, still standing across from him, followed her folder to the floor.

_Ziva couldn't feel anything. She thought she must have been curling up into a ball, must have been crying, but all she could think was that she had failed Tony. He was broken now, and she wasn't sure if she would ever put him back together. _

_She realised that she was even more tied to him than she had thought- she felt her unfeeling nerves shattering, blowing to pieces. _

_She was left alone, in the quiet of her mind. _

_With Tony. _

_Gibbs_ knelt to the ground beside Ziva, shaking her. She was curled in on herself and crying uncontrollably. She was shaking, as if it was cold.

He looked away, eyes resting on her folder. Surely… there must have been something…

_McGee_ was in the corridor, waiting from the elevator. His mind was completely blank.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and took it out- Gibbs.

"Yes? What is it?" he asked.

"I think I'm beginning to figure it out," said Gibbs.

"What?"

"You see, Ziva has written on her notes on Nicholas Temple. It says here that there was several photos of him on the wall- and a man that looked exactly like him. I think he had a twin brother."

"Seriously? The _'It wasn't me, it was my evil twin brother'_?"

"The dark-haired man on the screen fit Temple's profile exactly- the only thing missing was the fact he kept torturing Tony after Nicholas's death. If it isn't Nicholas anymore, but rather his brother, then we have our explanation."

"I don't know… I think we're still missing something. Surely not?"

"Look, I've looked up Temple's file. He had a brother called Matthew. I'm looking him up now, to see if they really are twins, and if so, if Matthew really does live in the right place."

McGee nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Go to Temple's place. See if you can find anything on Matthew."

McGee nodded again and flipped his phone shut.

_Tony_ didn't bother looking up. It didn't do any good anymore anyway. "Who is it?"

"It's me," said Wanda.

"Hello Me. I always wondered what talking to myself would be like. Curiously stimulating. Although, I do wonder if this means I am really mad."

"You know I won't tell you my name. Or who I am."

"Yes, though I have no idea why. The likelihood that I will survive this is extremely low. And I don't see how the knowledge would hurt me in any way."

The voice sighed. "You're right. I'm Don. And I was… Look, don't get all homophobic on me now. I was Mikey's boyfriend."

"Then why don't you hate me?"

"Because I don't blame you for what you did. I'm not even sure you did shoot him. But in any event, it was his own fault that he died. He was in a bad way, and he was associating with bad people. He would have died soon anyway.

"I loved the good in him, you see, but it was being killed by the bad. He was rotting and I was scared, because I couldn't make him better. And I wasn't sure how much time I had left with him anyway. He broke my heart, but at least this way I know it wasn't all his fault. I refuse to let his memory be soured by something as petty as anger."

"I wish I was as sure about my love as you, mate. I remember I thought I was, but now I'm not."

"You have to hold onto love. It's beautiful simply because it hurts. If it didn't cause us pain it would be worth nothing."

"I know. I just don't want to think about it now."

Don nodded and left.

_Gibbs_ heard his phone ring and answered, swivelling his chair. "Yes?"

"I've found it," McGee answered tersely.

"Found what?"

"Matthew Temple's address. He lives just out of town, in a big house. I think this might be it."

Gibbs felt himself nod slowly. "You could be right."

_I'm coming, Tony. I'll find you and I'll make sure they never hurt you again. _

_I'll find you. _


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, this should be the last chapter before Tony is safe and sound… or not. We shall see what happens.

I hope you guys all like it, and to you crazy fangirls out there, I hope I did Tony justice.

Dedicated to Skrillex (The One and Only)

With lots of love,

-Slayer.

_Gibbs_ kept his eyes on the road, resolutely ignoring the shambles of a woman that was currently checking her gun beside him. However, she did not appreciate being ignored.

"Gibbs, I know you did not want me to come. But could you really expect me to not? This is Tony."

Gibbs nodded tightly, still keeping his eyes on the road. "I just don't want you to break down again."

"Don't worry," she said. "I won't."

The house came into view around the corner. Slowing down, they pulled up at the curb. "I want you to be safe."

"Just work," she said, walking up to the house. Gibbs stayed back, assessing it.

It was a big two-story, rambling house. Not a mansion by any means, but still expensive, with a big green lawn and a wraparound patio and balcony, shielded from the sun and prying eyes by a white-painted lattice. Gibbs could easily imagine this house having plenty of room in the basement.

_Tony _looked up from his hands, hearing a noise that was not a footstep. It almost sounded like a muffled shout- but surely he was the only prisoner here?

He felt warm breath on the back of his neck and then his hands were free. He instinctively shied away from the touch of a man's hands on his upper arms.

"It's okay, Tony," said Don's urgent voice. "I'm not going to hurt you, but we have to get away from here."

Tony shook his head, trying to clear it as Don set to work on his other bonds. "But why?"

"I'm not sure, but I think the house is being invaded buy a rival gang. I didn't stay long enough to check who it was. We have to get out of here."

"But… Aren't you one of them?"

"Yes, but only an honorary status. That means that the other members won't help me. The thing is, I think the other gang is holding a grudge- which means they'll kill all of us. Including hostages and honorary members. We have to take care of ourselves, I'm afraid."

Tony nodded weakly. "I see…"

Don seemed to sense the source of his reluctance. "Don't worry, I'll help carry you. It isn't far to the vehicle."

_Gibbs_ shook his head. The house was riddled with gunmen. It was huge, as he had said, and he wanted to secure the upper floors before he went down into the basement. So far they had cleared the first floor of six men and were currently sweeping the second.

McGee bent down to check under the bed. It was an adult's bedroom, with a door right through to the balcony. Gibbs held his gun on the door, and McGee reared back.

A man crawled out from under the bed and charged at him, holding a pair of scissors. Gibbs shot him just as another man burst through from the balcony, taking advantage of Gibbs' distraction to pull an knife on McGee.

"Turn around!" Gibbs yelled, desperately lunging towards the knife-wielder.

The blade flew towards McGee's neck and he tried desperately to dodge, then the man collapsed, a bloody rose blooming on the back of his jacket. Ziva stood in the doorway, holding a gun.

"Still think I'm too fragile?" she asked mockingly. Gibbs merely raised an eyebrow.

McGee got up, cradling an injured arm. The man's knife had stabbed him as he fell dead.

"Go on," McGee said. "I'll secure the balcony."

Ziva pushed past Gibbs and into the hallway.

_Tony _leant desperately on Don, his vision covered in black spots. The scabs that covered his body were cracking and protesting and the cold air of the basement was attacking his skin. He still wore only boxers.

Don helped him up down a long corridor and into a subterranean garage. "This house is set into a hill," he said. "There's an exit driveway out the back. We can escape into the woods."

Tony nodded, opening the car door and collapsing into the back seat.

"There's a bag of clothes in the back. Put something on."

Don fired up the car as Tony pulled a polo shirt over his head. The automatic door rolled up with a sound like a chainsaw. Tony flinched.

Ziva's head shot up from where she was checking inside a closet. "What's that noise?" she asked sharply.

"I don't know,' said Gibbs. "It sounds like a car starting up."

They both looked at each other in horror.

_Matthew Temple_ looked down at his knees. They were coming- they had found him. They had won.

"I'm going to see you soon, brother," he told Nicholas. "I'll be there in just a moment. But first, there is something I need to do."

The corridors in the basement were empty. All the men had been sent up to protect the house as soon as the deadline was set. But he secretly knew that they were no match for the NCIS agents-even though they were outnumbered, and missing their best asset, they were a force to be reckoned with. His men were merely buying him time.

He positioned his Glock pistol next to his head as he silently made his way down the corridor. The team could be here any moment.

As he came to the doorway that held DiNozzo, he found it open. Eyes widened in shock, he looked in-only to find that Tony was gone.

That was when he realised what young Donald had done. He considered applause.

_Maybe I can still win this_, he thought, lips twisting suddenly into a mockery of a smile. _Maybe this could still be to my advantage. _

He set up in front of the room, in the corridor in before the garage, and waited.

_Ziva_ stalked silently down the corridor in the basement. She could just make out the silhouette of a man in the half-light. He was holding a Glock.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked in a voice directly reminiscent of Nicholas's. "You don't get the prize yet. You haven't won."

Ziva shook her head and spat at his feet. "You don't deserve to win, you despicable creature. I suggest you pray to whatever heathen god you believe in because you will not survive this day, I promise to you."

He threw his head back and roared with laughter. "So predictable," he chuckled. "Do you ever come up with anything original?"

Just as Gibbs came up behind her shoulder, she lunged at the figure in the half-light and pushed him into his own cell.

Gibbs pounded down the hallway to where he thought the sound of the car was coming from. He threw open the door and the afternoon sunlight blinded him for a moment before his eyes adjusted to the brightness. The car was leaving the driveway. He yelled out to Ziva and ran after it.

Ziva slapped Matthew hard. "What is your problem?" she yelled. "Why are you doing this?"

He didn't say anything, just grinned. That was what sent her over the edge.

She brought her knee up and hit him in the soft spot, and as his head came down she jammed the heel of her hand into his nose, breaking it. She grabbed hold of his hair and slammed his head against the concrete walls, yelling "How do you like it? HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?"

She was sobbing so hard she could barely see but the rage found his flesh when she couldn't. She drew her knife and stabbed him in the shoulder, pulling the razor-sharp blade down through his flesh and relishing in the warm blood that slid down his arm. "HOW DO YOU LIKE IT NOW? NOW THAT IT'S YOU, THAT IT'S YOUR BLOOD? IS THERE ANYONE TO CRY FOR YOU? HUH?"

"You are dirt," she whispered in his ear, slicing cuts along his cheekbones. "You are no better than dirt."

The blood on her hands made it too hard to hold the blade and she couldn't see, so she simply began hitting with blind rage and anger, striking out in fury, barely even recognising that his screams were quieting, that they had stopped.

She wasn't yelling in English, but in another language entirely, screaming the screams that had lived in her heart.

"_You will never hurt him again_," she said, wiping tears and blood from her face as she left him, bleeding and unconscious, in his own jail cell.

"_You will never hurt anyone again._"

_Tony_ looked back out through the window at the house, and saw a familiar figure pounding through the grass.

_Gibbs? But why would he be here?_ He thought hazily. _He doesn't care about me… Does he?_

_Does he?_

_Ziva_ finally reached the sunlight and fresh air of the grounds. Gibbs was standing on the edge of the lawn, staring out into the section of forest that lay there. "What have I missed?" she asked.

He looked at her distantly. "We missed Tony."

She felt confusion flit across her features, and asked "What?"

"We missed him!" he said, the distant look in his eyes morphing into anger. "We missed him because you did exactly what I thought you'd do. You flew off the handle. You attacked Matthew Temple. He's probably dead now, too- so we won't ever really find what we were looking for. Tony. We won't find him and we won't be able to do him justice, because YOU COULDN'T KEEP CONTROL OF YOURSELF."

He was right in her face now, and she found herself unable to look away from his burning, angry eyes. "We won't be able to find him alive. With luck, we'll find his body."

Ziva felt herself slowly shake her head. She trained her sights to the tiny section of forest.

"No," she whispered. "I'll find him."

Gibbs shook his head. "No, Ziva, don't."

"Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, because it's my fault. Yes, because I can't stand the thought that he'd be alone. Yes, because I can't live without him."

_Just hang on,_ she thought, _I'm nearly there. I'll find you, just wait. _

Okay, so that was longer than I had thought. Hope that was sufficient?

The next chapter will be hot on its heels- watch out!

This is nearly the end folks. Land ahoy.

-SLAYER XXX


	8. Chapter 8

This is the last chapter with any action, I promise. Actually, we've only got the epilogue after this, then we're ALL DONE.

I've changed my mind. I'm screwing around with timeskips in this chapter because I am just THAT SLACK.

Anyway, thanks for staying faithful and reviewing. Thanks to everyone for everything- I owe you so much.

Granted that I just basically made all this up, and only began to think through identities and blame and such AFTER writing chapter 6, I think I am doing pretty well, too. *pats self on back*

Love you all. This is dedicated to Chibitalia (glomps)

-Slayer xXx

Ziva slipped quietly through the forest, following the tire tracks that rent a broken hole through the dark trees.

Holding her gun to the side, she cocked an ear, trying to hear some sign of the motor. The oppressive silence of the woods was all she got.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate, but her worry over Tony was fast obscuring all conscious thought. _What if she didn't find him in time? What if he blamed her? What if she never saw him again?_

A huge curve was cut into the silence of the woods by the racing car, and she could only wonder at the reckless abandon of the driver. But she couldn't hear the sound of the engine.

She couldn't hear anything at all.

_McGee_ sat in the front drive in the foetal position, hands clutching his head as a myriad black shapes attacked his eyes. He couldn't help, couldn't follow, he had no idea what to do.

Everything was so complicated. He looked up to Tony like a big brother, Gibbs almost as a father, Ziva like a sister… and now it was all gone. Because even if they hadn't been crying, they were crying on the inside. The kind of tears that burn icy tracks in the skin, that find their way like mercury to your heart and blaze like white diamond, the kind of fire that never really goes out, the kind of burns that are more like frostbite, the kind of wounds that never really heal.

He wanted… He wanted everything to be alright again. He wanted to hold Abby in his arms and tell her it would be alright without having to lie.

He wanted to see Ziva again and be able to look her in the face, knowing that she was alright.

He wanted to look Gibbs in the eye, knowing that their family was all right.

But he couldn't have that. Abby was back at the lab, waiting for them to bring Tony home, Tony was God knows where, Ziva chasing after him, Gibbs chasing them both.

And he, as always, had been left behind-wounded, inadequate. All he could do was stare at the woods that bordered the yard and _hope_.

_Tony _opened his eyes. The car had stopped.

Donald pushed him on the shoulder. "Get out of the car," He snarled, a grimace disfiguring his face.

Tony felt his eyebrows push together, concern colour his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Just get out of the car, jerk," Donald said.

Tony stared back at him, uncomprehending. "What?"

Donald hissed, then got out of the car, slamming the door. He quickly changed to Tony's side and shoved the door open, unbuckling the seatbelt and hauling him out of the car. Tony tried not to cry out, the pincer-like grip disturbing several bruises. "What the hell is going on, Donald?"

"You know."

"No, I don't. Don't tell me what I do and don't know."

"You FUCKNG SHOULD!" Donald yelled.

Tony didn't know what to think. How had he not seen this side of him? He could barely see at all, but how had Donald fooled him? And what was going on?

"What are you doing? Donald?"

"Fucking SHUT UP!" He yelled, pulling a pistol and stopping. He shoved him to the ground and Tony winced, broken bones creaking under him and he tried so hard not to scream. So hard, but then Donald lashed a kick right into his upper arm, where the muscles connected, where the bone was already broken and the bruises were already there, and he howled- it just hurt so much he- clawed at it blindly, he couldn't see-

He felt the cold, impartial barrel of the gun connect with his temple.

"Don't. Move."

Tony felt his entire body still; breathing, heart, mind- stopped like pedestrians before a red man.

"You don't understand, so I'll tell you."

His voice was so close, right beside his ear, but behind the gun.

"You see, it all comes down to love. Have you ever felt it?"

And Ton felt his heart stop again because there was Ziva, right there against the blurred field of his vision, right there in the dark, oppressive trees he couldn't even see. There she was.

"Yes," he whispered brokenly.

"Don't. Speak." Donald said, whipping the barrel of the pistol against his nose.

"I loved him. Mikey."

He loved him.

Of course.

"The others wanted to kill you. I wanted to kill you myself, but they had a plan, and manpower. I had to see you die, so I fell in with them, helped them, they assumed they were going to take the killing shot but I knew all along that your team would be there, so I was there before they were. I fooled you. I got you to come with me. They'll still be tied up with all the men at the house, and you are going to be murdered and raped here in the woods, all alone, nobody to find your corpse."

He felt cold fingers caress his neck and bile rise up in his throat.

"The bonds of love can only be beaten by those of hate," Donald whispered softly, his hand moving downwards to Tony's chest, pushing him down so he was curled on the ground like a dog.

"You killed the man I loved," he said. "I'll make you _hurt_."

There was no way. Ziva wasn't there, Gibbs wasn't there, he didn't have the strength to run- and even if he had, his kidnapper had a gun. He wouldn't make it far. While it was true that Donald probably wouldn't sodomise his corpse, he could always just shoot him in the leg and have done.

He had no way out.

Donald brought down the heel of his foot into the soft flesh just below Tony's solar plexus. His breath came out in a loud _Whoosh_ and he felt his limbs curl into an even tighter ball, trying to protect himself. Donald aimed another kick right into his lower back and he bared his teeth in a silent scream, sides heaving, eyes tearing up-

And he heard the sound of jeans being unzipped.

He tried desperately to get up, but was only on his knees when he was kicked to the ground, spread-eagled with his face smashed into the dirt, small puffs of dirt escaping onto his face. Donald was standing over him, and he could hear their panting filling the silence of the woods, and then a shot, so loud, in his leg, like a dark comet rending his calf in half, burning like the sun and he could see the after-image burning against his closed lids, and he was trying so hard not to scream-

Then the dry rustle of cloth moving against skin, boxers ripped down and he was exposed to the cold, dry air, and-

And that was when the rain came.

Donald was right behind him, the gun was against his head, he could feel his body heat against his skin and he _just couldn't move and_-

Fire, so much fire, all over his body, he was being ripped in two, and this time he couldn't stop himself from screaming because the fire in his leg and the ice in his arm and the molten lava ripping his back in two-

Warm wetness, a tongue, just below his ear, screams subsiding, the air rent and his eyes bulging out of his head, the words-

"You have no idea how painful losing the love of your life is. If you did, you'd never have done it. But at least you will have some idea, before you die."

He was covered in water and mud and the rain had run into his eyes, his blood was painting the black dirt with red so that it looked like sunset on yesterday's battlefield, still strewn with corpses.

His mind was a bleak moor in Yorkshire, blank and full of despair.

He couldn't feel anything.

He was drifting away on clouds of silk…

_Ziva._ The rain had wet her and she felt her hair stand up, goose-pimples rippling in suddenly pale flesh. Her hair was slicked back and her clothes drenched.

Shewas only moments past the car when she heard the screaming.

It was heartbroken and desperate and _wrong_, but she recognised it, she knew it, it was _his_.

And now she came to the clearing- and she could see…

At first, she was not sure what she saw.

There was a man, a man she had never seen before, and he was on top of Tony-

And Tony was lying face down, leg bleeding, pants ripped-

The man was raping her Tony.

As she watched, he leant down and murmured in his ear. His words carried cleanly in the almost-silence, and Ziva felt her pulse stop, blood still, hands firm around her gun. She bit her lower lip, hard, feeling the lazy trickle of sanguine water flood her wet chin as she tried to hold herself back from jumping immediately in.

She wanted to tear him off Tony, scream at him, _hurt_ him, but that would be foolish. He might not be alone. There might be other men in the trees. This could be a trap.

"You have no idea how painful losing the love of your life is." His head was so close to Tony's. "If you did, you'd never have done it. But at least you will have some idea, before you die."

He lifted the gun, and Ziva felt her mouth stretch into a snarl, eyes flash, hands on her gun rise, the muscles in her legs moving her forwards into the clearing. She didn't care if it was a trap anymore, only that this man was hurting her Tony, was _killing_ her Tony, and she would stop him, before it was too late.

Unbidden, words rose to her lips: "You must be a monster indeed, to know what that pain is like and yet be ready to inflict it on another."

His head jerked back, sodden blonde hair flicking water, snarl fixed firmly in place.

She felt herself grow numb.

"Donald?!"

She had seen his face only once. In a file, beneath that of his father- his adoptive father…

Matthew Temple. Nicholas Temple's twin.

Donald Temple was Mikey's cousin. Kind of, anyway.

How the hell had she missed that?

The rain was frozen in the air, her ears closed. She could see him screaming, could see his finger about to close on the trigger-

She moved, diving towards them and firing the pistol, firing until there were no rounds left.

The rain pattered into his sightless eyes as he lay there in the mud on his back, arms splayed at awkward angles and the gun lost somewhere in the mud. She stood over his, cold rain pounding into her back as she stood over him, pointing the empty gun at his dead body.

Every one of her shots had hit; two in the back, another few in the chest, and one, placed firmly in the middle of his pale forehead, leaking red tears like a third eye. They didn't drain away and she realised she was shielding his corpse from the rain with her own body.

She picked up his wrist, still warm, and felt for a pulse. There was none.

"You came," Tony murmured from behind her. In a heartbeat, she was kneeling beside him, his head cradled in her lap. She wasn't sure if she was crying or it was just the sky's tears staining her cheeks.

"You came for me."

"Of course I came for you," she whispered, and the broken note in her voice and the burning under her lids informed her that yes, she was crying- But it was okay, because Tony was here and he was safe.

"You're here," she crooned, stroking his blood-matted hair away from his face. "You're safe."

His eyes lids fluttered weakly closed. "Can we go home?"

He sounded like a little boy, so lost and so, so desperately alone. She smiled a bittersweet smile and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Of course you can go home."

A/N: This is the longest chapter I have ever written. R&R!


	9. Epilogue

Home straights people! Only this little chapter to go.

Thankyou SO MUCH for the reviews and the follows. It really means a lot to me. Thanks. Really.

This is a short chapter, please excuse me.

-Slayer

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

A constant noise in the room, accompanied by breathing, was the only reassurance she had that Tony wasn't dead yet.

Utter silence.

He was lying in bed, wrapped in gauze and radiating wires.

Broken bones that had to be re-broken, deep cuts and massive internal bleeding, concussion, starvation and dehydration, blood-loss, and a gunshot wound to his calf. His hair was missing and his skin was sallow, his bones sticking out against his flesh, heavy bags under his eyes.

He looked like a different person- All Ziva could hope was that, underneath, he was the same person- because otherwise, he might never wake up.

_3 days later~ because I'm a bitch…_

Green eyes flashed. Flickered, Closed again… And opened.

Tony was immobile. His lungs felt like brown paper bags and he could feel needles in him everywhere. The pain from his shin was so intense it was like somebody was holding an oxy-acetylene torch against it.

The hospital was filled with late-afternoon sunlight. It shone across the bed and onto the face of the woman sleeping in the cahir beside his bed.

Ziva.

Dark hair mussed and clothes rumpled, she was surrounded by what must have been enough empty coffee cups to fill a modern art installation.

She looked tired.

As he watched, her eyes flickered open and she opened her mouth in a yawn- but then she caught sight of his eyes open, and shot forward, to the bed.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked, low voice loaded with concern.

He smiled drily. "I don't think the spa treatment is working, personally. Maybe we should get a refund?"

She smiled, biting her lip, features filled with a wash of relief.

He was going to be alright.

Everything would be fine again.

She just knew.

A/N

Alright. That's it! Done!

I am not going to put a poll up because I'm shisslak, but I want you tell me if you think I should do a sequel. Just… Just asking. Because I want to keep my options open.

You see, the thing is, this is essentially a torture fic. Now that he isn't being tortured anymore, I can't justify continuing the story. However, if you want a purely pairing and hurt/comfort-y sequel, I can't make any promises, but I might.

Anyway, ciao! I hope I lived up to your expectations.


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